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Updated: May 12, 2025
Several times during the conversation he felt the young girl's hand touch his arm. Once, when the factor spoke about their return to the gold in the cavern, this mysterious signaling of Minnetaki's took the form of a pinch that made him squirm. Not until after dinner, and the two were alone, did he begin to comprehend.
He waited for no reply, but darted back to the other trail, with Wabi and Rod close behind him. A quarter of a mile farther on the old pathfinder paused and pointed in exultant silence at a tiny footprint close beside the path of the sledge. At almost regular intervals now there appeared this sign of Minnetaki's moccasin.
Gently he took the raven tress between his fingers, his deep-set eyes glaring like red coals of fire. It was a strand of Minnetaki's beautiful hair, not for a moment did one of them doubt that; but what held them most, what increased the horror in their eyes, was the quantity of it! Suddenly Mukoki gave it a gentle pull and the tress slipped free of the twig.
Oh, what a glorious time we'll have!" "Perhaps he would go with us," suggested Rod. "No, he couldn't leave the Post. If he went Wabi would have to stay." Rod was counting on his fingers. "That means six in our next expedition, Wabi, Mukoki, John Ball and myself, and you and Maballa. Why, it'll be a regular picnic party!" Minnetaki's eyes were brimming with fun.
A little farther on there was a soft spot in the path where a great tree-trunk had rotted half a century before, leaving a rich black soil. Clearly traced in this were the imprints of Minnetaki's moccasins. For a full minute Rod stopped and listened, making not a sound. Why he maintained silence he could not have explained.
"He is too anxious to become Minnetaki's slave again, Rod. No, Muky won't go, I'll wager that. He will stay at the Post to see that she doesn't get lost, or hurt, or stolen by the Woongas. Eh, Mukoki?" Mukoki nodded, grinning good-humoredly. He went to the door, opened it and looked out. "Devil she snow!" he cried. "She snow like twent' t'ousand like devil!"
For a long time there was silence, except for the rhythmic dip of the three paddles. Once Minnetaki's voice came to them faintly, and they answered it with a shout. But that was all. After a time Rod said, "By George, this saying good-by is the toughest part of the whole business!" His words cleared away the feeling of oppression that seemed to have fallen on them.
Instantly the old Indian was at his side, kneeling there silent, trembling, his face twitching with joy, his eyes gleaming, and where he had crouched a moment before there came Wabigoon, smiling down upon Rod in his own bursting happiness, which was only held in check by Minnetaki's hand and the almost inaudible "Sh-h-h-h!" that fell from her lips.
Twice did Minnetaki insist on having repeated to her the story of Rod's wild adventure in the mysterious chasm, and when he came to the terrors of that black night and its strange sounds Rod felt a timid little hand come close to him, and as Wabigoon continued the narration, and told of the map in the skeleton hand, and of the tale of murder and tragedy it revealed, Minnetaki's breath came in quick, tense eagerness.
He was on the trail of Minnetaki's captor, and the outlaw was carrying his victim in his arms! Minnetaki was injured! Perhaps she was dead. The fear gripped at his heart until he looked again at the imprint in the snow the widely spread fingers, the flat, firm palm. Only a living hand would have left its mark in that manner.
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